Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1887-02-24


OF arrows assailed us as We tore on-s,
swiftly, indeed, that 10 my excited fame,
the prairie seemed to sink Eeneath us, an,
we were flying through the air. A glanc,
over my shoulder gladdened me with hope
our flight was fast distancing our pursuers
their cries had grown fainter-the arrow
did not reach us. The sun had set, but
fiery glow was spread half TO the zenith
when drew rein. Not a savage was il
sight; We were saved. l dismounted, ant
helped my precious charge to the ground
She lay passive in my arms; she had
tainted. Carefully laid her down. anG
famed her with my hat till she revived.
She unclosed her eyes and sighed, but nc
color came back to her cheek.
Poor father, she murmured, "they have
Killed him m-and-an and-I am dreadfully
hurt"
To my horror and distress, now saw
that an arrow had entered her side. took
her hands, and my tears fell on them.
You cannot help me-" she whispered.
You have been so good to me-and SO
brave! am not leaving you forever-O, /,
mol Some time some time"
III er faint -aeasnis- failed A -bsnt low 10
hear them.
The ruddy glow of the westeru aeayens
still family lighted the somber prairie
when scouting-party from the fort
reached the spot. The horse was quietly
cropping the short grass near by; was
kneeling by the beautiful dead child, hold
ing her tear-wet hands.
-
An event like that just described, occur
ring to an ardent and generous youth of
twenty, will inevitably produce powerful
impression. So it was with me. Davenant,
thou h much older than l, was my dearest
friend. He was widower; Minnie was his
only child; and We three had journeyed to
what was then the far West, for recreation
and pleasure. And this was the melan-
choly ending Of our journey! Lonely and
sad, returned to my Eastern home. So
terrible were the details of this tragedy,
and SO sacred seemed the sufferings and
the words of that dear child, that l only
recurred to these things in my own sad
retrospection. Never, after leaving the
tort, until the occasion now to be named
had l spoken nor written of them.
In 1867 had become thirty Eight years
OF age. Something then happened that
was as surprising to myself as to any of
my acquaintances. l married q wife. 1t
was the old story: habit, preconceived opin-
ION, laps of time, all were against the
probability of such thing; with any other
woman ii would have been an impossbility
but this one
No matter; enough of this. She was
twenty years my junior, and 1t was mar
riage OF affection, pure and simple. A
glorious creaturel-but enough of this, too.
And she was quite an artist; much more
than an amateur. Young as she was she
had gained reputation; her work
was, IN demand; she was liv-
ing by her brush when found her.
In the early days of our welded life she
delighted to show me her early work, all of
which she had carefully preserved. Unlike
most workers in the arts, she was not ut all
ashamed of it: crude though it was, she
was interested in tracing the progress that
these attempts showed, and certainly it was
with real pleasure that looked them over
and listened to her explanations.
On nna occasion, dnring our bridal trip,
while we were stopping for few days at
q seaside resort, Marian and i, accom-
panied by her favorte, Zip, pure -blooded
Skye terrier, found a secluded nook COM
view of the sea. There she
seated herself upon a moss covered rock,
with some fancy needlework to give q SEM
blance of occupation, while lazily re-
clined at her feet.
Then she resumed the subject of her
early endeavors iD art, and when we had
reached the end of the collection she
seemed to hesitate, and then said:
Jasper, have one more, little water
color, that L painted when only ten years
old. My friends called it good, and flat
tered me too much about it; but there was
one thing that makes me almost tremble
whenever l see it-that is, the way it was
done. 1t was commenced. continued, and
FniGhan Xvithnt1t tba oct 81, -.
Of subject. Scenery and figures were ex-
ecuted just as they occurred 10 me; my
band worked almost mechanically. And, |
Jasper grew very serious here, and |
her voice trembled-"when first met you,
'ix months ago, that picture instantly came |
nto my head. Your face and your voice |
lave always ever since reminded me of it. |
Strange, is 1t not? am not troubled about |
I ut all; but there is something in this curious |
of yourself with that picture
hat can not understand"
She brought it to me, and, if ever the
lead shall rise before my waking vision, |
hall not be more startled The picture
vas of ruddy twilight sky, boundless
'raiiie, horse freely cropping the grass.
girly lying dead on the gronnd, and
nan kneeling beside her, holding her
lands. i gnZed Mt it as if fascinated,
''AIarian," cried, when the power of
peech returned TO me, ''who told you of
his subject 2"
Nobody. 1 painted it Just as l told
on, without thought or design"
And you never heard nor read of ON
Incident that you intended TO illustrate by
his 2"
Never; and do not know now what it
leans."
But the locality-the Western prairie
ou have seen itY"
She smiled as she replied, "I have never
cen outside the State of Connecticut in
~ life."
Mechanically 1 turned the picture over
4 my hand. card was in the corner of
le frame Marian took it out and busted
with her handkerchief.
This l wrote when the picture was
one," she said, "for kind of name.
'on't ask me WHY selected such curl
rs one; l can no moro tell you that
IAN why paint d the picture itself"
She held up the card to my eyes. A
Ueet, sad voice fom beyond the tomb
eemed to ell my ears as / read:
~ an not lenriH0 yOa JOrercrp
We sat in silence for willie. She saw
lat was rongly moved, and she did not
ldurb me; only her hand stole quietly
Ito mine.
"Maran," 1 said at last, 81 think you
I'D me once that you had your mother
rge family Bible"
"Yes. They are all Gead but NO. There
as no one else 10 have it,"
"Please let me see it,"
She brought it, and / Turmoil 20 the
Family Kecor :" where births, marria. e.,
ld deaths-the brief epitomo OF human
fe- were entered in large, round hand.